DIRTY BLOOD | TR ✔︎

TEN ➢ WYATT

It been four days since I last saw Tom. Five since the night we slept side by side.

He hasn't been in the corridors, in the dining hall, the astronomy tower, the library. He hasn't been down by the quidditch pitch, the common room, the last two days of detention.

My worries are starting to get to the better of me.

Time ticks by incredibly slow as I search for him, to no avail. My skin crawls with self-deprecating thoughts, ones that belong in no one's head.

What if he used me? What if he's out there screwing other girls? What if he's telling everything he's done to me to his friends? What if he's sitting there with them, laughing as they belittle me, calling me a whore, a slut?

I dip my quill in ink, swiping the excess off of the tip before bringing it to the parchment.

The Hippogriff is a half-bird half-horse hybrid located mostly in the Eastern part of Europe...

Hagrid is right in front of us, petting the giant animal. He's telling us the notes to write and we copy them down into the notebook.

I learned all of this last year, but for the Advanced Care Of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid has us doing a small review.

Considering he didn't know of my existence last year, I can't say I blame him. But, I passed my Care Of Magical Creatures class with a high ninety.

I refocus my attention on the bird, watching intently as he trots around.

The hippogriff is a great judge of character. Once the animal trusts you and gives you its respect, it is hard to sway its loyalty...

Days drone by, fading into three weeks as I try to force Tom out of my mind. But it never works. He's always back there, talking me through different things, how to solve potion equations.

I can't escape him.

In the dining hall, when I'm stuck sitting by myself, I can feel his presence beside me. I can feel his hand dragging up my thigh. I can hear his gentle breaths and smell his cologne.

In the hallways, I'm searching every dark corner. I'm looking at every face that passes, hoping it'll be him. I'm waiting to hear the distinct rhythm of his footsteps.

In the Slytherin common room, I wait to hear his dry sarcasm to one of Enzo or Theo's remarks. I wait to hear the pour of his whiskey as he slides into the seat across from me.

In the library, I can hear him telling me that I've grabbed the wrong book and poking fun of me for it.

In the astronomy tower, I'm waiting to hear his laugh. To hear his taunting 'little mouse'. I'm leaning against the banisters, waiting to feel his suit jack drop over my shoulders, his chest to my spine as he wraps his arms around me.

Which is where I am now.

Even on the nights where the trees are awake, rustling with creatures from below, crickets screeching through the air, it's those nights that drown out the ruckus in my mind.

I can't get up to the roof without him, so here I sit, dangling my legs over the ledge. It's a twelve story drop, but I won't let myself fall. I have a tight hold on the edge and a tighter hold on my wand.

My only fear is that my pronunciation won't be right and I can't break my fall.

I tilt my head up to the sky, wondering about Tom's fascination with stars. His room had an enchanted ceiling to always show the rotation of the stars. The midnight sky was always some array of deep reds, navy blues, or indigo purples.